Three times Sherlock tried to get a hug
by Shinichi06
Summary: And the one time he did.  Sort-of  Sequel to "Flirt". Four drabbles of Sherlock's attempts to get a hug from someone.


FF – Sherlock

Three times Sherlock tried to get a hug and the one time he did.

Warnings : Awkward sociopath and plenty of references to the series.  
>Characters : Sherlock Holmes, Dr. John Watson, Mycroft Holmes, cameo of Sally Donovan<br>Summary : (Sort-of) Sequel to "Flirt". Four drabbles of Sherlock's attempts to get a hug from someone.  
>AN : Inspired by a tumblr headcanon that Sherlock secretly likes hugs.  
>Yes, I went there. The references, I mean.<p>

* * *

><p><strong>I.<strong>

"I'm in shock." Sherlock said calmly.

John raised an eyebrow, "Oh?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes and tried again. "I'm. In. Shock." He flapped the bright orange blanket that had been wrapped around his shoulders lightly. "See? Shock blanket."

"… Right." John appeared rather sceptical and nonchalant as he felt the slight bulge in his leather jacket – the not-so-well hidden army-issue pistol – as assurance that it was still in his possession. "Shall we return home then? I'm sure a nice cup of tea would do you good."

"John, I'm in shock." Sherlock emphasised. God, why was this so difficult for John to understand? Weren't normal human beings supposed to grasp the concept of affection quite easily?

His flatmate patted him down lightly, checking for supposed trembling and unease. "No, no, you seem quite fine. No shivering and your eyes don't show any signs of distress." John wonders briefly if Sherlock needed some placebo treatment. "Does something bother you?"

Sherlock made some odd noises of exasperation before turning on his heels and strutting off. "No, not at all, I'm _fine_, you see, absolutely fine. Home then, for that tea you were talking about."

John muses he must have been caught in the midst of an odd experiment.

**II.**

The tension in 221B Baker Street was high enough to set the entire street aflame. Mycroft and Sherlock sat on opposites sides of the coffee table, Sherlock pulling messily and haphazardly on the violin strings with his bow in annoyance, a rather redundant attempt to force Mycroft out.

His brother tapped the black umbrella's handle coolly, until Sherlock lost patience and stopped.

"What do you want?"

"Your skill, in this case in Romania –"

"No." Sherlock said shortly.

Mycroft sighed pityingly. "Your indifference always did upset Mummy."

"Wrong." A strange thought pulsated in Sherlock's mind momentarily, and he pulled his bow again, playing screeching, jarring notes. "Mummy… Mother never did care."

"Everything she has ever done was for your sake, Sherlock."

"Wrong again." Sherlock said loudly above the myriad of noisy notes. "Your skills are rusted, Mycroft. Mother and Father never cared. They never loved us. Don't you see?"

Mycroft stared blankly at Sherlock for a while, before exhaling tiredly, the dark eye rings illustrating him to be far older than his actual age. "Look, I don't know what got into you today, but I'm not having another row. Let me know if you change your mind about the case." He said, before standing up to leave.

Sherlock contemplated timing things right and throwing his violin out of the window so it would land squarely on Mycroft's head.

**III. **

"Freak." Donovan spit as she walked by the two of them in the police bureau.

Sherlock turned to John, who was typing a text on his phone. "She hurt my feelings."

"Hmm?" John leaned over slightly to catch his words, but otherwise paid no more attention.

Sherlock harrumphed and looked away. "No, nothing."

**One. **

John was panting as he pulled away the tight knots that bound Sherlock to the low, wooden chair, the overhead lamp flickering in the dilapidated flat. "Tell me, Sherlock, how? How is it that every single time I have my back turned you go gallivanting into reckless danger that puts your entire life dangerously close to its end?"

Sherlock could feel his own perspiration drip onto the fresh, but superficial, cuts and thought it stung quite a bit. The musty stench in the old apartment in which he was abducted to suffocated the both of them, and it frustrated John further when the rope refused to be loosened, and that irritation seeped into his tirade.

"Is it, because you somehow, mistakenly, believe that you are just invulnerable? 'Oh look at me, I'm Sherlock Holmes, and I'm invincible with my massive intellect!' Massive ego, more like!" John growled as he hacked harder at the thick bindings. It took all of Sherlock's willpower to resist the temptation to outright laugh and giggle in amusement, because John was certainly being rather funny in his imitation of him. He opted to stay silent instead. An angry John was a rather dangerous warning sign.

"I swear, Sherlock. One more time, one more time you run off like that, I swear I will ignore your existence for the rest of my life, kidnapped or not." The rope finally broke and John gasped in relief, before pulling Sherlock into an embrace so tight that he thought for a moment that John might have the capability to actually break his ribs.

"But," John wheezed lightly as he held Sherlock, "I'll forgive you just this once, because you're okay."

**Bonus**

Sherlock ponders about the success rate of being blatant.

"John."

John looks up from his laptop, the light from the screen reflected in his blue eyes. "Yes?"

He pauses to breathe deeply. "Can I have a hug?"

John smiles, endearment in the crinkles around in his eyes. "I don't see why not, Sherlock."


End file.
